The Bourne Pilgrimage
by Stormin Mormon
Summary: Sequel to Vengeance. Like always, David/Bourne's enemy has rejected his offer to walk away. So he and Nicky go after the enemy's source to stop him. But when Bourne is badly injured, it's up to Nicky to be the tough one. Jason Bourne/Nicky Parsons
1. Frayed Strands of Life

Disclaimer: For reference, please see Bourne Vengeance.

The Bourne Pilgrimage

Chapter I

Frayed Strands of Life

There were many things that Jason D. W. Bourne preferred to do over other things. Some of these were simple activities, such as reading, sleeping, eating, going for a walk, and other basic functions. Then there were more complicated things he enjoyed doing: solving mind puzzles that were ranked hard, forcing the car into a 1080 degree turn through the parking lot, going for a run through the outdoors, and the occasional forage into the woods with nothing more than a blanket and flint and steel. Nicky didn't prefer him to do this, especially out of the blue with only a note.

Finally, there were the things that he enjoyed most out of what life had to offer, and it was often nothing more than eating breakfast, going for a drive to the store, and other mundane or exciting events or errands. What made these so much more exciting than outrunning a forest storm was the simple connection all of these had in common: Nicky Parsons was without doubt nearby. He would rather go with her to watch a sunset, something he never would have done on his own, than solve the most ludicrous puzzle he'd come across. It wasn't hard for him to figure out why, and he wasn't in the mood to object to it.

That was why Bourne tensed when Nicky walked back into the house with a sense of fear in her stance. His hand began to creep towards the handgun holstered to the underside of the table. His face took on a more inquisitive expression, wondering what had frightened her so suddenly out of the blue. Two weeks since Venice, and after migrating for three days Bourne had returned her to a city that had painful memories for her, but was a city she insisted that she loved above all of them save New York. He purchased an apartment, using funds still left over from Treadstone—he could likely live in a quiet retirement somewhere with what he had—and set himself up as a personal accountant, while Nicky had insisted on securing a job as a clerk for a company here in Paris.

Nicky shook her head; whatever it was that had scared her wasn't a threat. His hand let go of the gun. Preparing himself to speak, Bourne stood up, meeting her eye. Her face brimmed with emotion that spoke volumes about how she felt. It wasn't true fear, the type he had expected. It was more of a horror or terrible thing that had unnerved her. Either way Bourne didn't like it. "What?" he asked softly.

"I had to deliver some records to their archives," she replied, her expression frozen. She stood upright and rigid, like she did when hesitant to say something, for fear of fear or pain. Bourne felt a silent rage coming. If someone there had done something to her, he would hunt them down and… "It was the old Treadstone safe house."

Bourne's anger dissipated as he understood the true reason behind her fear. Nobody had done anything to her…in the present. Jason Bourne coldly recalled all the memories he had of the safe house, from when he would receive missions, to his first fight with Castel, to Conklin's death, and the most painful one of all: getting there right after Nicky had been threatened, and after the nightclub incident. The assassin persona barely felt the emotional pain, but was certain it was tearing at Nicky, remembering how memories were tightly tied with emotion. David Webb was sympathetic with the pain she felt, feeling it more than the other persona, and took over Bourne's movements to comfort her. He approached her and gently embraced her in a move that was normally unlike him.

Nicky rested her head against his shoulder. It wasn't often that the man she loved, literally in two pieces, showed affection. It was difficult for him to incorporate the two, with one far weaker than the other. But when he did manage it, she loved him all the more for it. So she continued the embrace, living in the moment where she was in the arms of Bourne. Her posture unconsciously changed to become more content. "What did you do today?"

Bourne went stiff, and Nicky became alert. If she didn't know any better, something had unnerved him just as badly as it had her. He had been keeping buried within him, like he oft to do, and which she had ignored in search for a shoulder to rest on. The former agent needed just as much affection, she knew, as she did. She didn't need to be a major in psychology to know that. She stroked his neck, getting the reaction she was looking for, and asked, "What's wrong?"

The man didn't relinquish his stiff body language, and she could have sworn that his cheeks went the faintest shade of pink. He was embarrassed? Jason D. W. Bourne, the greatest assassin, soldier, fugitive in the world, was embarrassed of something? Curiosity arose of its own accord, interested now in what could have embarrassed and unnerved Bourne. "What is it?" He hesitated, a rarity. Nicky's interest became lined with fear suddenly: if it could unnerve him like this, what could it do to other people? "Jason, what's wrong?"

David Webb wanted nothing to do with it, and so he washed his hands of the conversation. That left Jason Bourne holding the ball, and Jason Bourne, the cold calculating persona that felt practically no emotion except for Nicky, didn't want to say it either. But with David Webb conveniently gone, there would be no tag-team to deal with one of the most embarrassing moments he could remember. Bourne licked his lips and began to speak. Nicky obviously hung onto his every word. "Today, at work…" he began, not wanting to say more. But he didn't want to disappoint Nicky. Had she said once talking was good for healing? He didn't think so at the moment. But he pressed on regardless. "The electrician… made a pass at me today."

Nicky came close to frowning, confused by the subject. A woman had made a pass at him? Why would that be a cause of discomfort? Did he for some reason think it was betraying her if he talked with another woman? Suddenly his expression, demeanor, and words all clicked together, and it took Nicky several seconds to have a coherent thought. She looked up into his eyes with new understanding, and found a strange bubbling within her. "You were hit on by a man?" she asked. Bourne didn't move, didn't nod or shake his head, but kept his stiff posture. She felt the bubbling rise, and found herself laughing for the first time in a long time, burying her face in his shoulder again. The world's deadliest man was beaten by a foe that wasn't even armed.

*****

"Do you have them?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good. When you're ready to move out, tell me. And for your life don't wear anything identifying."

"I won't boss. Your man was very specific."

"Of course he's specific. You should see what his daytime job is."

"And that's—?"

"None of your damn business. You're the hitman, not the boss."

"Yes, Vincent."

"Now go bring me back his head. We can worry about the girl later. She's about as dangerous as a freaking infant."

"Call you when I'm done."

"You better."

The man put down the phone. Strange, he joked to himself, that didn't sound like a casual conversation between friends. Unless those friends were in the mafia. It amazed him how blatantly arrogant Mafia men were. Come to think of it, many people he had worked with had been overconfident. Bourne was one of the few exceptions, which might be one of the reasons he had survived so long. The other CIA assassin, Paz, bore a similar attitude. He was now working as a consultant, if his intel was correct.

He reached for a briefcase; time to head to Paris. Before leaving the room, he donned a mask, similar to the one in the Phantom of the Opera, and added a silencer to a Glock.

*****

There were activities both Jason Bourne and David Webb hated doing as well. That didn't include the activities that one liked and the other didn't. A fair example would be Jason Bourne enjoyed hunting in the wilderness, getting into fist fights, getting into gunfights, getting into high-speed chases, killing people, blowing things up, avoiding detection, tracking down a target, covering his tracks after the target was dead, and in general any of the things he did while an agent; David Webb enjoyed none of these.

But both personas had similar dislikes. Neither had any love for watching idle television, anything that put Nicky in danger or frightened her, lots of cameras, the color pink, cars with a low max speed, police, the CIA, people trying to kill him, coffee with too much cream or sugar, people with dark senses of humor, running all his life, nightmares, fear of losing his memory again, Nicky by herself, and having to swim; he'd lost enjoying that after being blasted into the river in New York. And neither still liked plane rides.

A new one that could be added to the list was plumbing. The sink in the apartment had broken once before, spraying Nicky with water and terrifying her. He had nearly broken the door racing in with a gun to find her trying to battle a raging sink. It had been enough to draw a smile. At first he'd thought she'd overreacted, but now when the sink had broken a second time, on him, he realized that either the sink had terrible pipes or it was possessed. At least he hadn't shouted or screamed.

He was lying on his back under the sink, up to his chest in the cabinets with a wrench in his hands. Nicky, against his concern, had gone out to get a newspaper and walk the streets. It was getting dark out, and Bourne wasn't completely certain the mafia, or the CIA, would have given up on them that easily. He hadn't received any contact from Paz or Landy yet, so he assumed the CIA was going along nicely. That left him with less paranoia that was usual, but he hadn't given up on it yet. Paranoia had saved his and Nicky's life more than once. So had that mysterious gunman, who Bourne still didn't have the identity of. It was irritating; he had been saved by someone he didn't know and couldn't find. Who would know him and could have saved him?

Footsteps reached his ears as the door opened. He continued to work on the plumbing, wanting to get it finished so that Nicky could use it and so that he might not have to explain that he had been surprised by the sink as well. But seeing as how she could read his posture and expression that might not work out so well. The footsteps ended in the kitchen. "Nicky, hand me the flashlight," Bourne asked. There was a shuffling noise ahead and he could see the flashlight handed down.

Bourne took it and turned it on, aiming it up. As the assassin flinched from the LED light in his eyes, Jason Bourne wondered how stupid this people thought he was. He kicked up at the man's groin, making him stagger and shoot off a misfire. Bourne gripped the edge of the sink and swung out onto his feet. The assassin was armed with nothing more than a 9mm, silenced. He grabbed the man's gun hand and kneed it, making him release his grip on the gun. Then he proceeded to smash the wrench into the man's head.

To his surprise, and Jason Bourne's delight, the man ducked beneath it and slammed Bourne in the jaw with his fist. He shoved Bourne away and came up with a cooking pan. This assassin was better. David Webb became wary. Jason Bourne became excited. Finally he had a challenge to fight. Bourne moved first, coming low and swinging the wrench at the man's leg. He jumped over it and swung the pan down. Bourne deflected the blow by re-angling it, absorbing the impact. He continued with his roll and ended up on the other side of the table.

The assassin swung at him with the pan, and Bourne backed away. He put his back to the wall and kicked hard at the table; it shifted and slammed into the assassin's gut, pinning him against the sink. The assassin snarled and threw the pan at Bourne, who dodged it. Then the assassin located the gun under the table and yanked it out, pointing it at Bourne. Bourne ran behind the wall, keeping low. Fast bullets tore through the wall above him.

This man was different, he realized. He couldn't be an asset; the man was too wild and forceful. Assets were reserved and calculated. This assassin acted like they were in a cage match. He could use that against him. He waited for the gun to empty and then returned to the room. The assassin was in the process of shoving the table away when Bourne threw the wrench at him. It struck the man in the temple and made him hesitate, dazed a second. Bourne moved back behind the wall as the man came back and threw both the wrench and the gun at him. The wrench hit the wall with a clang and the gun skittered past him. Bourne reached for another hidden gun when he heard a thud; the man was throwing knives at the wall. Bourne let a knife fly again and then turned and shot. The bullet caught the man in the stomach as he was raising a knife. Bourne fired twice into his throwing arm, and then again into his other arm.

He crossed the room and kicked him in the stomach to drop him. The wild assassin coughed up blood. "Who sent you?" Bourne asked, pressing the gun to his head. He struck the man's stomach. "Who sent you?"

"Guess, the only one trying to kill you," the assassin replied. Bourne knew who he meant: the Italian Mafia. So they had taken the hard route after all. He began to calculate how to kill Vincent De Luca when another thought entered his head.

"How are you finding us?" Bourne demanded. The man looked at him with a blank face. Bourne pressed his foot down into the man's stomach, creating a groan. The door opened and out of the corner of his eye he saw Nicky drop the newspaper onto the ground. "How are you finding us?!"

"I don't know!" the man shouted back in agony. "The boss said something about an inside man somewhere who can track you, but that's all I know! He said something like the man was specific! Like I know what that means!"

Bourne grabbed the gun by the barrel and struck him across the head, knocking him out. He knew exactly what the man didn't. "What?" Nicky's quiet voice broke the silence, filled with fear and confusion.

"We're being tracked," Bourne explained, grabbing another magazine for his gun and adding a silencer. He put another into Nicky's hand. "The mafia found us. We need to go eliminate their tracker." He put an arm around her waist for comfort rather than taking her arm as usual. She didn't feel very comforted. Once again she had been plunged into the deadly game assassin game of cat and mouse. He wished there was somewhere he could send her while he took care of this. He kissed her forehead as they went outside, heading for their car. When this was over, he would take her somewhere where she would never have to be afraid again.

"Who's their tracker?" Nicky asked, with a tint of anger in her voice. It surprised him. Was she close to snapping? At him or the mafia? He opened the door for her and helped her in.

"Somebody in the CIA," he replied, climbing in and starting the car. He revved the engine and drove off.

*****

"Get to it, men. The hitman failed."

"You sure, boss?"

"I expected it. Now go finish the job. Bourne's likely still uninjured. Use all six cars."

"We'll get him."

The line clicked dead again, and the man was left with new things to ponder from his phone bug. Vincent had improved his knowledge of Bourne it seemed, and was attempting to set a trap. The man touched his Phantom mask to make sure it was secure, and sped up.


	2. What are Odds to Bourne?

Chapter II

What are Odds to Bourne?

He had to get them moving. Bourne made an expert left turn and went three blocks before turning again. His method made no sense to Nicky. Bourne had been randomly turning ever since they had left the apartment. She wanted to ask him what he was up to, but Bourne was exhibiting a calm, confident posture. The former assassin knew what he was doing. So Nicky held her tongue; Bourne's idea might not be painted on his features, but at least he was certain that it would get them away from the mafia's gunmen.

The car drifted and turned into an alley, and Bourne slowed down. This was more like him, taking an alleyway as a shortcut. But then Bourne pulled into a hidden garage off the alleyway and stopped the car. He got out and began to pull down the garage door, concealing them from view. "Where is this?" Nicky asked.

"I rented this as a place to hide the car if we were being followed," Bourne replied. He locked the garage door and walked across the garage. In his mind's eye, he knew where everything was, and no stumble or trip caught his feet as he made his way to a light switch. He flicked on the light, and he was partially satisfied to know that he was right about everything in its exact place. The number of things in the garage was low, stocked with emergency supplies and medical care. Nicky stood next to the car, looking frightened and rigid like she always did when scared, but there was also a hint of frustration with him in it. Bourne watched her more closely; she was angry with him for not telling her. He changed how he was walking to her; he didn't want her to worry about it constantly. He knew that she would've.

Bourne moved closer to her. Outside the garage, the sound of men and cars grew. The mafia likely knew that Bourne had a hideout nearby. If only they knew how close. He put a hand to her cheek and looked deep into her piercing eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

She was confused by the question. Why wouldn't she trust him? He had pulled her out of the fire more times than she could count. She loved him, as well. So why did he think she wouldn't trust him? He wasn't about to do something dangerous was he? "Yes," she replied. Bourne moved closer and kissed her, and she gave in to her emotions. After a moment he broke off.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and struck a nerve on her neck. Nicky went limp instantly as her eyes rolled in the back of her head. Bourne was ready to catch her, and he laid her down in the back seat of the car. He would be feeling bad for the small headache she would have later, but he was worried about any stress she might experience if she were awake to hear what might happen. Nicky was a frail woman, both physically and mentally. He left through a side door in the garage, checking his gun.

Bourne didn't have much time. As frail as she could be in comparison to other former members of Treadstone, she was remarkably tough in recovering. She wouldn't stay out as long as a regular person. That gave him less time to work with, against superior numbers. But when did he worry about being outnumbered, outgunned, and short on time? He had been working with those odds since Wombosi. He would just get to put his skills to use once more.

A car sped by the alley, faster than a regular person would have gone. Shortly after a man ran past, shouting in Italian. That alone tipped him off. Bourne moved down the alley quickly and softly, emerging to point his gun down the street at the running man. There was a thwack, and the man stumbled forward and dropped. Bourne wasted no time in moving on; even with a silencer his gun would be heard, and people would be wondering why their comrade was face-down in the snow with a bullet in his back. Stowing the gun beneath his jacket Bourne stepped out into the street and waited. Surely enough, a car tore onto the road, heading for him. He unveiled his handgun and fired twice. Both shots struck the driver and he slumped forward. The car veered straight for him.

Sounds off to his left distracted him. Bourne reacted and caught the gunman's wrist while elbowing him at the same time. The flinch allowed Bourne to shove him by his shoulder, hand still on his wrist, into the path of the driverless car. He stepped back once as the car came within inches of his toes and struck the unfortunate gunman in the waist, flipping him over the car. The car's direction changed with the hit and it spiraled into a parked car. Bourne shot once at the motionless man in the middle of the road, just in case he came to. He flipped on the safety on his gun and put it away, grabbing the man's Uzi.

Bourne headed back towards the alley and went through it. He raised the Uzi and fired as a gunman stepped out from behind a doorway; a hail of bullets struck the man and the wall around him. He had to lead them away from here, make them think that he wasn't guarding a specific area. As he heard men shouting, Bourne broke into a run, heading for another alley. He ran through and turned down the street, still at a sprint. A man turned a corner holding a gun. Bourne dived at him, striking him in the nose with his the crown of his head. As the man crashed to the ground blood all over his face, Bourne caught himself and rolled to his feet. He barely ducked in time as the man's companion swung a crowbar at him.

The man swung again, and as he missed with a wide swing, Bourne moved in closer to him and kneed him into the groin before slamming a forearm into the man's face. Staggering back, the man raised the crowbar to strike again. Bourne caught the crowbar and held it in place as he stepped forward and kicked the man's leg sideways. It broke and the man fell under his own weight, screaming in pain. Bourne shot him with the Uzi and headed for an armored van coming down the street. He heard the definite sound of men behind him as he raced over to the other side of the street. As the van passed by, bullets shot at where Bourne had been, stopped by the bullet-proof armoring of the van. He vanished as the van continued by the spot, picking up speed. The men were confounded, just beginning to understand Bourne must have jumped onto the van. Then they heard sirens coming for them and ran. They didn't get far before French police arrested them for owning weapons and shooting at an armored van. None of the police believed or wanted to believe their cries that Jason Bourne was involved.

Meanwhile on the van, Bourne held onto his footing. As it slowed to turn a corner, he jumped off and rolled. The van sped off unaware of its use as a transport, and Bourne stood up and tossed away the Uzi; it was out. Sirens could be heard everywhere now. He needed to get back to Nicky soon, but first he had to make sure there weren't more men after him. The last part was confirmed as he ducked into an alley, only to come face to face with two more Mafia assassins.

"It's about time you got here, Bourne," one of them said in a heavy Italian accent. Both were large and built, each standing a head over Bourne. One had a knife in his hands; the other had a broken glass bottle. For a moment they stood and stared each other down, and the two men exuded as much confidence as Jason and David had that they would win. The only thing to decide was whether they were as good as they believed themselves to be. Behind him, sirens continued to wail. He would have to finish this quick to get back to Nicky. It was a good chance that she would be waking soon.

"What's the matter, Bourne? Scared?" the second asked, flexing his chest. Jason Bourne took control and Bourne let out a cold, half-amused maniacal laugh. His eyes glinted with the murderous calculating persona of the heartless assassin. Both men were unnerved as Bourne fell deeper into his darker side. They weren't so confident now: facing an ex CIA assassin was one thing, but a man who might be mad was something else. Bourne wasn't mad though; he was just wholly Jason at the moment.

So he pulled out his gun and shot one through the heart. As the man groaned and fell to his knees, the first lunged with his knife. Bourne caught the man's wrist and twisted it. In response the mafia assassin twisted with it and kicked Bourne in the side. Bourne buffeted with the hit and let go of the man's hand as well as shouldered him deeper into the alley. The man swung and Bourne slid to the side. The assassin swung again and Bourne caught his wrist and smashed it into the wall. Grunting the assassin head-butted Bourne. Bourne staggered back as the man sliced at Bourne's hand, making him drop the gun.

Jason Bourne flared up more inside of him. His hand was cut but not too badly. Still he had to get rid of this assassin quickly. The man came at him again, and this time Bourne grabbed the knife hand and dropped to his back. His feet caught the man's stomach and flung him over Bourne, ripping the knife from his hand. Bourne wasted no time in spinning to his feet and going after the assassin who had been knocked onto his back. He knelt by his head and began leading furiously with his uninjured hand, beating the man in the face. A flashback occurred, of Desh striking him in the same situation, when Nicky in a sudden move of bravery leaped onto Desh and pulled at his jaw, giving Bourne the precious time to react. He remembered the then-strange protectiveness and anger when Nicky had been hit.

He began to let up, taken away by the flashback, and the assassin took the opportunity to hit Bourne with a garbage can lid. Bourne jerked back, brought back to the reality as the assassin stood up. He slipped his hand through the handle and held it like a shield before charging at Bourne. Bourne backed up as the man swung away from his body with the lid, and then back across his body. As the makeshift shield came across the assassin's body, Bourne grabbed the lid and twisted it up around the assassin. The assassin spun around to keep his arm from breaking, and Bourne directed the assassin's arm up and over the assassin's head, reaching down his back. From there he shoved and was rewarded with the sharp sickening crunch of an arm breaking.

The man shouted in pain, and Bourne punched the lid, delivering a shockwave of pain up the newly broken arm. The assassin fell forward, and laid still, tears starting to leak down his face. His cries ended as Bourne found his gun and shot him through the back of the head. For a moment, swept up in Jason Bourne, he went to kill other gunmen, but David Webb returned as he remembered Nicky. Bourne paused and looked at the two dead men, a silent shame overwhelming him. He hadn't lost control of Jason Bourne since Desh, and it felt disgraceful that the assassination tendencies of Jason Bourne still had such control over him. But now that David Webb was co-piloting again, he focused himself. Discipline could come later. Nicky was probably awake now.

Bourne left the alley and began to head back to the garage. He held his gun in his non-dominant hand since the other was injured. While it wasn't bad, he would avoid overexertion for the moment, at least until it was bandaged. He grimaced at the thought of antiseptic. Training only seemed to have dulled him to fighting pain. Pain from medication still burned each time; he knew they never expected him to have to use medication except under extreme circumstances. That, and agents were supposed to be tough. Somebody should have made a note that even tough people don't enjoy needles and anti-septic. He moved faster, ripped from thought, as the sirens increased.

A gunman exited from the alley Bourne was heading to, and he raised his handgun to kill him. Before Bourne could react, there was the loud sound of a gunshot. The gunman jerked forward and fell down, and Bourne as surprised to see Nicky was behind him. She had snuck up on him and shot him before Bourne could shoot him. He was at first impressed and proud of her, only to be replaced by concern at her face. As best as he could remember, Nicky had never killed before. It was obvious on her face, the shame and fear he experienced when Jason Bourne was let loose.

There was nothing he knew he could do for it either: he had yet to completely come to terms with the blood on his hands. His heart, David Webb, ached at the thought of the woman he loved forced to deal now with the darkness that haunted him. He could see her face in his mind's eye as they stood on either sides of the street, full of guilt and consumed by the memory of killing. He didn't know how he would protect her from the darker side of his world now. He didn't want to think about his delicate, emotionally beautiful Nicky being scarred by the memory of shooting a man. Despite not knowing what to do, David Webb pledged not to let her be scarred by it. Jason Bourne calculated his thoughts and what had happened to them in the past, trying to find loopholes and ways to stop the event from harming her. He couldn't bear to see her disfigured in such a way. She might break.

So he put on a calming, soothing posture to relax and protect her. Her expression was replaced intently with relief as Nicky focused her attention on him. He began to meet her as she stepped over the body, intently not looking down. He kept eye contact, trying to act assuring and comforting as he could from a distance. They both walked onto the street, and Bourne's instincts panicked as the gunman, thought dead, stirred and raised his weapon up. Breaking into a dash Bourne literally dived at Nicky, her stance going stiff in shock and fright as Bourne grabbed her and spun her around in the air. Just as they were falling to the asphalt, the gunman fired.


	3. Resilience

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the awfully long break in chapters; I have no excuse. You may stone me if you like, but then Chapter 4 won't come out.

Chapter III

Resilience

The asphalt was hard. A sharp sickening crack was heard as a skull came into contact with the asphalt first, followed by the body. Blood flowed and dripped from gunshot wound, staining clothes and making fingers slippery. The gun was difficult to hold onto, somehow covered in blood from the wound. The gunman grunted as he attempted to stand up, and reaction was instant. Nicky recovered from her daze and raised her handgun. She fired and struck him in the chest, dropping him. Propping herself on a hand, she fired three more times. The gunman had miraculously—or unfortunately, depending on the viewpoint—survived her the first time. He wouldn't this time.

She took in what was around her. They were in the middle of the street, dead gunmen around them and shots in the air. Bourne was lying with her, unconscious. It took her a second to realize that the sharp pain she felt was from hitting the street, and that the bullet had struck Bourne in the upper thigh. It was still bleeding profusely. They were two streets away from his safe house and a vehicle, sirens were blaring straight towards them, and there might be more gunmen out there. For Bourne, those odds might be a relief. For Nicky, who certainly never felt superhuman—jumping from rooftops to save others—the odds were intimidating.

Fear certainly reared its head in her direction, threatening to overwhelm her. But she reached inward for her CIA and Treadstone training, locking her emotions away within the cold shell she'd used for work. Fear became a meaningless distraction, blocked by training and cold thought. She began to categorize what to do around her, logistics training already becoming natural. The gunmen and sirens she could nothing about except to get out of Paris. That would have to wait, though; Bourne's health was the first priority.

Nicky moved up into a kneeling position and gripped the torn portion of Bourne's pants. She strained and ripped the fabric, giving her a wider berth. With more flesh visible, she was already analyzing his wound. The bullet hadn't gone deep into his thigh, but it looked like it had at least skinned an artery. If the bleeding didn't stop, it wouldn't matter if she got out of Paris; her life would be dead. She pushed her gloved finger into the wound and pulled her hand out of her glove. Then she pressed the other glove on top of it and tied it as best as she could with her scarf. The blood that escaped the makeshift bandage was a barely a trickle. It would do for now.

His leg stabilized for the moment, she scooted over to check his head. Slender fingers delicately touched his temples before tracing around to the back of his head. She had to be careful; if he came to and was surprised, she would be the unconscious one. But apparently he had hit his head hard, because he didn't twitch. She lifted his head and looked. The skull felt intact, despite the sickening crunch from before; the memory of the sound made her stomach flop, even within her training and forced calm. But it didn't look like his skull had caved. She checked his breathing; he was. So he was only unconscious. The question would be how long. She needed to get them out of there.

This would be the difficult part, she knew as she put her gun away. Nicky began to roll Bourne onto her shoulders, body limp over her. He didn't feel that heavy. But when she started to stand, her knees buckled and it felt like her legs had turned to lead. She didn't have the physical strength to just throw him over her shoulders. And it wasn't like he was out of shape. She cursed muscle for being so heavy. Nicky gently put him back on the ground, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and began to drag him backwards out of the street. His weight still drained her strength, but at least she could move him. She stepped onto the sidewalk and cringed when he bumped against it before sliding smoothly.

They passed the gunman, Bourne sliding through the man's blood. There was no doubt he was dead this time; there were five bullets in his body and one straight in his heart. Even if he was incredibly still alive, his gun was conveniently being dragged away by Bourne's legs. Nicky blamed herself for this situation. If only somehow she hadn't missed, then Bourne wouldn't be bleeding and unconscious, in a coma for all she knew at the moment, and they would be out of Paris by now. Once more, the regular ex-CIA personal was a hazard to Jason Bourne, who probably wouldn't have to put up with all of this if she wasn't there.

She nearly dropped Bourne then. Before, when he had rescued her from the mafia in Italy, he had offered to leave her, believing that he was standing in her way. She had been horrified and wanted him there, comforted by his words and admittance of loving her, but now things were being seen differently. What if she had been standing in his way? She knew he loved her, and he always would, but what if he didn't want to be with her always? You could still love somebody and not live with them and be part of their lives; she had done it once for several years, and some people called it divorce. Nicky shoved the negative thoughts from her mind; this was not the place and Bourne wanted to be with her, said in words and stance. But the thoughts lingered in the back of her head.

They had gotten to the end of the first alley, and Nicky put him down for a second. He was heavy to drag. Nicky may have been trained with a CIA assassin program and given tips by Bourne, but that didn't mean she had his physique. As she wiped her brow, she took in her environment. The sirens were still wailing, but they were up the streets. They weren't getting louder, either, indicating that the police weren't headed straight for them. At least something was going their way. Just as she was thinking this, Nicky heard a man load a gun and grumble around the corner. Of course.

She reached for her gun. If he wasn't in her face she could shoot and kill him before he knew what was happening, and she would fire afterward so that she didn't have a repeat incident. But Bourne had told and shown that handguns—as well as any gun—was impractical in a fist fight. And Nicky knew she would be the underdog in such a fight. She had some of Bourne's knowledge, but this was killer employed by the mafia, and he likely was much stronger than her. Still, she didn't want to die, and Bourne needed her help. Nicky quieted to listen for his footsteps.

It was just her luck that he turned the corner. The gunman, automatic in his hands, looked absolutely stunned to see her leaning against the wall, inches from him. Nicky wasn't so petrified, secure in her training and locked emotions. Perhaps not everything was against her. Ignoring her gun, she spun and rammed her knee into the man's groin. He groaned and dropped his gun, trying to put distance. She did an uppercut, hoping to his nose. He moved and she hit his chin instead. He flinched and swung his arm. His forearm caught her stomach and she flinched with the hit.

The gunman recovered and charged her. She moved to the left at the last minute and shoved him. He stopped in front of the wall and was shoved into it by Nicky. She punched his kidney, identifying where she was. An elbow swung out and hit her face. He spun around and hooked her nose. She backed up and held her nose. He readied himself and charged. Nicky saw him coming and dropped to her back. Her feet rose to level with his knees. He swung them aside and fell on her elbow first. She rolled and was caught in her hip. The pain burned, but she couldn't stop.

He caught her arm to stop her rolling away and tightened her grip. It hurt her and she punched his throat. He loosened her grip. She punched again. He punched her face and she rolled away with the blow, nose freely bleeding. She got to her feet as he dived at her and grabbed one of her legs. She teetered as he attempted to throw her off balance. She raised her free leg and stomped down on his groin. She was wearing thick heels, and she didn't hesitate.

The man screamed in pain, letting go of her and holding himself. She started to move away so she could shoot when he grabbed her leg and yanked. She fell down and he climbed forward. He knelt over her and struck her face. He struck again. And again. Nicky felt her walled emotions close to breaking with the pain and strikes. She suddenly threw herself forward and head-butted his nose with the crown of her head. He flinched back, and she punched both of his kidneys at the same time. In a follow through she kneed him in the groin again. He bowed over, and she shoved him off of her. She rolled to her knees to see him running for his gun. She pulled out her handgun and fired. The first shot struck his back, and he dropped.

Nicky climbed to her feet, gun still pointed at the man. She fired again, three more times. Nobody was going to pull a revival stunt again. Breathing heavily, Nicky looked around for any other gunmen or witnesses before returning to Bourne. There wasn't any time to rest now. She had to get them moving. She reached for Bourne, heart still pounding, when he flinched and suddenly came to. Her heart jumped up again, probably close to a heart attack for three seconds. Then it settled back into slowly returning to a steady pulse. She knelt next to him to assess his condition.

Bourne felt a pounding in his head as though he had been struck by a truck and then thrown into a gong. It was coming from the back of his head, and he subconsciously touched it to make sure it wasn't bleeding. But the sharp pain in his leg definitely was bleeding; he could feel the heat from when the bullet had entered. Mind clearing fog, he made note of what had happened. The first thing he noticed was where he was. He recognized the alley as the one Nicky had come from, and where the gunman had somehow survived. Somebody had moved him. All these thoughts turned him towards Nicky.

He found her on his left, placing a cool hand on his forehead. He was about to tell her he had a headache when his eyes instead focused on her face. Her eyes were hard with a small lock of emotion in them, piercing as always. There was blood streaked across her face from her nose. Her lip was cut, and there was a bruise forming near one of her eyes. Somebody had struck his Nicky. His instinctive response was for his blood to boil and his muscles to tighten. Somebody was going to die for this. She noticed his sudden burst of anger and her stance changed to reflect apprehension.

"What happened to you?" he asked, voice kept barely even. He wanted to scream and roar. Her response shocked him. She looked confused and felt her face, surprised by the blood on her face. Hadn't she noticed someone striking her? But then her confusion as replaced by training-made calm. She knew she'd been hit, but she hadn't thought about how hard.

"I fought a man. He's there," she explained, pointing behind her. Bourne saw the corpse, with four shots in it. His mind began to click things together as Nicky helped him to his feet. Nicky must have killed the gunman—again. Nicky had managed to drag him down the alley after bandaging his leg with her scarf and gloves. Just now Nicky had managed to overpower somebody in a fistfight. And right now, Nicky Parsons had his arm slung over her shoulder and was helping him hobble across the street. There was something in her stance that reflected resolution and determination.

Had he thought her frail a moment ago?

Something wasn't right. At least, he didn't want something to be right. He knew full well that Nicky had been part of Treadstone; she had to have known some of the darker side of the world. But he hadn't realized _how much_ she had known. He didn't want her to. Bourne wanted to protect her from the dark, terrible side in him and the world. Even now he wanted to be the one helping her, as she helped him through the next alley. But she was, holding her own. It was incredible; he didn't give her enough credit. And yet it pained him that Nicky was so well versed in the underworld.

He would have to think about it later; there were more important things to do. Jason Bourne focused on walking, being the more cold and calculating of the two. He didn't feel the pain as much. David Webb took to watching their surroundings, not as skilled as Jason Bourne but more prone with a human intuition that machine Jason Bourne didn't have. They reached the final street between them and the safe house with the car. Nicky and Bourne looked down either side of the street before Bourne shifted his weight, indicating to move. Nicky didn't falter as she helped him down the street. She was also stronger than he gave her credit for.

As they crossed the street, Jason Bourne posed a question to David Webb. It took a moment for the question to register, as intensely focused and distracted with Nicky as he was. It was his right foot that was shot and bleeding; how was he supposed to drive? David Webb answered blatantly that they wouldn't; Nicky would have to. But both personas felt guilty about driving Nicky—their beautiful, perfect Nicky—further into life's nastier side. She had proved she already knew more than he expected, and he was going to have to reconsider his view of her. Nicky was unpredictable, they decided for now.

They crossed the street and entered the final alley. The sirens which had been in the background were finally starting to get louder. He would have to navigate while Nicky drove. Had she ever been in a high-speed chase before? What had happened to the scared, frail Nicky he had known? Had it disappeared under necessity, or had she always been so tough underneath? He didn't like having to be tough. She shouldn't have to be.

Either way, as Nicky led him into the safe house, the point was currently moot. She helped him into the passenger side, and he watched as she tossed a medical kit and food into the back, along with their personals. He grabbed the medical kit and opened it as Nicky climbed in and turned on the car.

*****

"You called, boss?"

"Why didn't you send in the cars yet?"

"The police were providing a distraction. They've been taken care of."

"You killed them?"

"No, we convinced them we were secret police. They're going to help us catch Bourne."

"Call me when you have them; don't bother coming back if you don't."


	4. A Lovely Drive

A/N: Thank you for not stoning me. The gunshots were much better received.

Chapter IV

A Lovely Drive

Bourne first thought that they were dead when Nicky pulled out of the safe house. Not only did she take her time to pull into the alley, she had to drive forward again before going in reverse again. He knew not to expect too much of her. He had been with her when she drove to the ferry in Spain, and she was a good, safe, fast driver. That was nearly the opposite of him; he was a wild, dangerous, fast driver. His instincts naturally said they were doomed because they weren't skyrocketing along at the speed of light and because Nicky couldn't make perfect death-gracing turns. So he did his best to keep quiet until she asked him where to go.

"Head south," he ordered, and loaded his gun. She sped up nicely before slowing down a second to swerve around another car. That was when Bourne thought he was dead a second time. The sirens increased, and the sound of an engine revving behind them caused Bourne to glance behind them. "Police and gunmen."

"What do you want me to do?" Nicky asked.

"Drive around; lose them." Bourne lowered his window enough to stick his arm out. He opened the medical kit and opened a bottle of whiskey. Nicky didn't show any surprise at the alcohol in his medical kit, and her trust was rewarded when Bourne splattered it onto his wound. She wanted to help him but she couldn't out-drive their pursuers with one hand. So she forced her eyes back to the front and tried to go as smoothly as possible. Bourne applied gauze to his wound and put his hand down on it. He stared into the side mirror and stuck his gun arm out the window.

Three thwacks buzzed in Nicky's ears as one of the cars behind them swerved wildly and turned sideways, only to be struck by a car behind it. She had to turn her attention back ahead of her as they passed over a bump, causing Bourne's hand to slip. She had to keep it smooth as possible while outrunning several cars. How hard could it be? She flicked her eyes towards Bourne and wished she hadn't. He was grimacing slightly as he changed the bandage, and she felt sorry for having put them in this predicament. But she was going to get them out of it, wasn't she? She spotted something ahead and moved.

Nicky hit the brakes and turned the car wildly. The car did a 180 and she watched as a police car passed on with inches between them. Then she hit the gas again and turned into an alley. Bourne's face showed no surprise at what she was doing; his face was blank as stone. His posture gave away his confusion, however. Movement in the mirror caught her eye; one of the police cars had followed them in. It was picking up speed. Bourne saw it coming too and started to roll down his window. "Wait," she ordered. How hard could it be; she'd seen Bourne do it before.

The car's brakes squealed and the police car slammed into the back of their car. Nicky felt the seatbelt go taut against her as the force threw her forehead. Knuckles whitened a second before loosening up. She forced the fear back down under her training and hit the gas again. Behind them, the police car wasn't moving so quickly, and one of the figures looked slumped over. Had the impact knocked him unconscious? Then she caught sight of the back of their car, twisted and mangled. French cars probably didn't have the integrity and durability of American cars. She would have to think twice before trying that again.

Two more police cars drifted onto the road behind them as two others came to a stop at the intersection ahead. She tried to think of a way to get through that didn't involve totaling their car any further. However, Bourne already had an answer for her. He stuck his hand out the window and fired twice. One of the police cars behind them was struck in a tire, and spiraled off the street. "Turn left," Bourne ordered. Nicky didn't understand the direction; the two ahead were in their way. "Turn left!" he shouted, and Nicky did so as they reached the cars. Their car drifted and became parallel with the parked vehicles. It slammed into one, striking Bourne's side as their car shouldered an opening between the cars. Nicky took it and left the three cars behind.

The collision couldn't have been nice to Bourne, let alone the car. He was trying to heal and tend to a bullet wound in his leg, while she was running into everything in sight. Nicky wished that they were in a hummer at the moment and not a regular French car. She glanced behind her; two mafia cars and three police cars were on their trail. Nicky thought briefly. She braked and veered left. "Keep speed, Nicky!" Bourne shouted as guns shot at them.

A tinge of anger sparked in her. Nicky pushed her foot harder on the brakes as her face came about to face Bourne's. She was the one driving, and she didn't need him to tell her how to drive. So she shouted back at him, briefly furious and overwhelmed, "Shut up and let me drive!" Nicky's anger vanished just as quickly; she had just shouted at Bourne for the first time, and she already felt bad about yelling at the man she loved, even if he was trying to tell her what to do. Her attention came back to the road. Just as the pursuers began to slow down, Nicky ended her feint and sped back up, tearing around a corner.

Bourne was shocked. In fact, shocked wasn't even the right word for it. He was speechless, an absolute rarity for him just as much as the emotion Nicky had shown. David Webb couldn't come to terms with it; Nicky, Nicky Parsons, _Nicky_ had been angry? He didn't even know Nicky could _be_ angry. Jason Bourne thought back to all the emotions Nicky had shown before: fear, disappointment, terror, sadness, happiness, nervousness, joy; she had shown numerous emotions, often all at once, but never had he seen her angry. The closest she had ever been to anger around him was at Tangier; she had attacked Desh in a burst of fierce protectiveness.

And now she had been angry with him. That put several trains of thought into the two personas. Jason Bourne became reevaluating how much more credit they would have to give Nicky; she had beat several people, dragged his body down an alley, was outdriving police and mafia, and now had shown him anger. She was nowhere near as frail as he had thought— or wished. They weren't letting go of the hope she wouldn't have to be involved in his darker world. David Webb was busy wondering how to smooth over the situation in apologizing, keeping Nicky calm, and not looking like a fool. He was a former super agent, unstoppable and uncatchable. And right now he was being rendered speechless by a beautiful former Logistics officer.

Something told him a sorry right now wouldn't hack it.

Instead, attempting to keep focused and not feel like a tamed kitten, he went to work bandaging himself again. Nicky said nothing but continued her course along the straight road. She felt like she was in a drag race, except the loser wouldn't get to walk away. Ahead, she spotted an alleyway to go through, and she braked hard and swerved to enter it. As soon as she entered it, she regretted it and did her best not to look at Bourne. The alley she had turned into was not an alley, but a stairway leading down. This would be the exact opposite of smooth.

Bourne felt himself jostle up and down and winced with each movement. He hadn't gotten a chance to get the bullet out, and now he felt as though he was rolling along in a hydraulics car with an overeager driver. Was Nicky doing this on purpose, he wondered? Or was it simply poor luck? He glimpsed at her face to get an answer. Her eyes were locked facing straight ahead, at first making him believe that she was still angry. However, further inquiries showed the sympathy she was trying to hide at the moment. At least he knew she wasn't trying to cause him pain.

The car finished down the stairs and jolted back onto a street, where Nicky turned and headed in the direction of a train station. She knew that it was irregular to head straight towards where an escape was, but they had to no time to stroll along with mafia killers nearby and Bourne injured. They would have to take their chances with the train. If worst came to worst, there was a nearby bus stop they could ride west, towards the ocean. But the train option was first. She had to think of a way to ditch the car and throw off pursuers.

"Drive to the gas station," Bourne said. She noticed as she turned that his statement was more of a suggestion than an order like it previously had been. Was it because she'd gotten irritated with him? She wasn't anymore: couldn't he see that or was he too busy at the moment? They had more on their plate than normally, and normally meant stalking a target or spending their time pretending they were normal. Either way, she could correct the mistake once they were safe and the bullet gone from Bourne's leg. She hated to think what type of internal bleeding there might be.

The car came to a halt in the middle of the gas station, currently unvisited by anyone else. It was late at night, and there were plenty of sirens out at the moment. "There are explosives in the back," Bourne explained. Nicky stiffened for half a moment; she had used that part of the car to hit another, and there had been _bombs_ back there? She was surprised he hadn't said anything. Knowing him, they were already armed. "Head for the train station. I'll set them off and distract our pursuers." Their pursuers were currently taking the long way to reach the street they were on.

Nicky's posture changed then, from listening intently to resolution and compassion. "I'll do it. You head as far as you can towards the station, and I'll catch up with you," she offered. She saw what was rising in him: Bourne's incredible amount of chivalry and protectiveness of her. But it was he who needed protecting at the moment; she would have to cut him off before he became completely certain of himself. "I can move faster, and you need to save your energy." Bourne's eyes flickered defiance for a moment, trying to say that he could defy the odds as he had so many times before. But Nicky would not give him any ground, so expressed in her position.

Finally, openly frowning at the thought of putting her in danger, he handed her a cell phone. "This will set them off; it's speed dial 1," he told her. "Be careful." They got out of the car, guns concealed, and Nicky put the cell phone in her pocket. She watched a second as Bourne began to limp down the sidewalk, feeling guilty as though it was her fault. Then she withdrew back within her training and thought about the best way to clear the gas station, so that innocent people would not be hurt. She hid her gun behind her back and loaded it.

Nicky walked into the center of the station as raised her gun into the air, firing two shots. The employees in station shouted in panic and ducked down. "This is a robbery," Nicky said, feeling out of place. She was an analyst, not a field agent. And she was certain that she didn't look intimidating. Bourne a few days ago had remarked with a compliment on her angelic face. "Leave or be shot," she ordered. The employers filed out quickly and soon broke sprinting away from the station. Nicky glanced around. She felt terrible about stealing for some reason, but convinced herself to grab a few protein bars, a lighter, and a bottle of water. She stuck these into her jacket before leaving.

Slightly burdened, she ran off of the gas station's property and was grateful that no employee tried running back inside. She couldn't see any of them to begin with. They were the smart ones; running from danger was always a smart option when you were outnumbered and outgunned. Making her way to the sidewalk, she fingered the cell phone in her pocket which would allow her more power than she was used to. She had a detonator in her hand; Nicky did not remember ever holding more than a handgun, and those felt powerful enough. Ahead, Bourne was limping gallantly along. He had not gotten very far but was still attempting to set a fast pace.

Sirens behind them reached their attention as Nicky caught up to Bourne. He didn't turn, but she did to see how far they were. If she was lucky, then she would be able to catch some of them in the explosion. Bourne wanted to reach for the detonator, to do it himself so that Nicky wouldn't have to. But he didn't think she would surrender it to him, and Jason Bourne was curious as to how far Nicky knew of the darker side of life, so that he knew what to expect. David Webb didn't want to know; he would rather be ignorant and blissful. But ignorance had never served them before, unfortunately.

Nicky dialed the number. She felt the phone vibrate in her hand before the signal came through. Somewhere back there, she was certain that a phone in the back wired to bombs had just beeped. And then the car exploded. The explosion was much more powerful than she had been expecting; it completely lifted the car off the ground, and the nearby fuel stations suddenly blew apart mere milliseconds behind the car. And caught in the blast were several mafia and police cars. Two police cars were flipped into a building. A mafia car was blown up outright. And more were tossed around or flipped by the resulting explosion.

The young woman felt a rush of energy in her. She had never had something so powerful at her fingertips, and she'd just used it to destroy several cars. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time what she had unleashed. Heart beating quicker than normal, she helped Bourne towards the train station before anyone could see them.

*****

The explosion had caught nearly all of his attention. A powerful effect of light, heat, and sound was bound to do that to nearly anybody. The man in the Phantom mask was no exception, skilled as he was. But it hadn't caught all of his attention. He still aimed and fired with the CIA-issued sniper rifle with expertise, killing the driver. He moved quickly now that his position was compromised. Reaching the ground, he headed towards the now crashed car. One of the men, alive but dazed, charged him. The Phantom killer reacted by catching the man by the wrist and slitting his throat with a combat knife. It helped to have a melee weapon, he knew.

He checked around the car to make sure no others were alive. None were, but he emptied a silent round into each for security. As he recalled, it appeared Bourne and Nicky had been unfortunate with that. That brought his total kills tonight up to two cars of mafia men. Part of him wondered why he was doing this again. He touched his arm to remember, and started for his own car. If he was going to guess Bourne's next more, he could do so while traveling himself.


	5. Forget Bourne, Help Us

Chapter V

Forget Bourne, Help Us

Paz entered the office. His expression was as blank as ever, meaning that Landy had absolutely no clue what on earth he was thinking. It was frustrating; she had worked with her team long enough to know what their thought patterns. Not only had she known Paz for only a short time, he was unpredictable and stone like he always had been. She could read him just as much as she could read Bourne. At least she knew she could track him if he pulled a Bourne, too. Although Paz seemed to enjoy being a consultant. Or did he not like it? She couldn't tell.

However, her guesses at what were going on in Paz's mind soon became moot when he delivered her copy of the Washington Post to her desk. He usually didn't bring her the paper. That he was doing it could only mean one thing, and she dearly hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. She picked it up suspiciously and read only the headline. She slammed it down as Paz started to speak. "If you even say Jason Bourne, I'll shoot you myself," Landy warned. The headline read, 'Couple Ransack Paris; Gas Station Explosion Involved." Landy was going to go crazy if Bourne was involved again.

Paz obviously seemed to believe her threat, because he shut his mouth and began to think very carefully. After a few seconds he opened it again, and Landy realized that he was probably going to say David Webb instead. Would he act like that? But once again, she was wrong; Paz didn't treat exploding gas stations and police cars as something humorous. Or would he? Either way, his answer was only indirectly related to the man who made her life hell. "Nicky Parsons," Paz stated. Landy raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Witnesses state it was a female who destroyed the gas station, and satellite reconnaissance shows that she was responsible for several of the dead, as well as for driving."

Landy mulled the facts over in her life. Bourne was a CIA legend now, the ultimate chase, ultimate assassin, and ultimate pain. Who knows how many people associated Bourne with the CIA, despite the fact he hadn't been one for years. They probably thought all CIA personnel could kill you with their little finger. But what really drove the CIA up the wall was that this would make the third time in a row Bourne had burst out into the open. For having been a person who didn't exist, he certainly knew how to make himself known. But now Paz said Nicky Parsons did this? The quiet girl? "You certain?"

"The same witnesses who saw Nicky Parsons destroy the gas station saw her aiding a limping male," Paz recited. "They entered the train station where they disappeared." He stood still a moment before realizing that Landy wanted his guess. "Bourne was injured and Nicky Parsons took over command and proceeded to attack their attackers before taking Bourne away. Their attackers were registered on our databases as mafia. Bourne left Vincent De Luca alive, but Vincent is not as merciful."

Or as smart, Landy thought. One would think that after two relatives being killed, and nearly being killed himself, anyone would learn to have a healthy respect of Jason D. W. Bourne. She started to question Paz's estimate, as any decent investigator would have done. What surprised her more than the fact that the quiet Parsons from Berlin had killed several of those people was that Bourne had been shot. He'd been shot once before, and that was a stroke of pure luck on Vosen's part. She wondered if he ever rooted for the mafia, in his nice little cell. "If Bourne's limping, he undoubtedly injured; he wouldn't try to make a false diversion. I thought he didn't make mistakes," Landy stated.

"He doesn't have to," Paz explained. "It is possible to fail a mission even if there is not a mistake made. It is unforeseen variables that can kill, variables that cannot be calculated." Paz had a point; after all, even without mistakes, Vosen had shot him. And if Vosen of all people could get lucky enough to shoot him, it could happen with a more skilled shooter. Well, with Bourne injured, Nicky had obviously stepped up. She asked Paz what he thought of Nicky's capabilities. "She lives with him; he is bound to have taught her beyond her standard training."

That only left two questions for Landy: what was Nicky's training so that they had a parameter of what Nicky could pull off, and what their objective would be. Would they finish off Vincent this time? Or did Bourne have something else in mind. Sometimes she swore that the man had split personality or something. Well, at least she could answer one of those questions easily. "We'll keep our work to ourselves this time," Landy began. One of her team members had begun seeing Bourne in his sleep, and so none of them would be on this case. "Get Parsons' file. We need to know what she can handle." Paz left to get it.

The ex-asset left Landy's office and shuffled through the hallways. He passed by the room containing Landy's team, and since they were all staring at him, he paused. Even now, part of his mind was calculating how he could kill them all quickly and silently, and who would be the most difficult to take out. He never stopped seeing how to kill. Paz wondered if Bourne suffered from this as well. "Sir?" one of them asked. "Are we…" He left the question blank. Paz thought on what he could say to the team. Landy had said they weren't to be a part of it. He checked the large screen to see their current target, watching Russian subs make port.

Then he remembered that they were on the same team, and here in the CIA he didn't have to worry about who to talk to. He could tell them that they wouldn't be working on Bourne. Perhaps Paz did need to talk to his psychologist about his paranoia and secrecy. Bourne he knew suffered from paranoia. "You supposed to be watching submarines, not me," Paz stated, and left. His trained hearing heard the entire room sigh as they realized Bourne would not be crashing into their life. Bourne was not the most subtle person anymore. Paz wondered if he had given up caring whether or not he was invisible.

Paz made his way down the floors to the records office. The guard there didn't stop him; somebody had once surprised Paz by accident. He had recently gotten his cast off. Paz had sent what he thought was a proper reconciliation gift: fifty-thousand dollars. It was a drop in the bucket for him. Like the Treadstone agents, the assets had been given hundreds of thousands to work with. His had been entered in a stock market, and he was doing good. All he did was watch patterns. He found the Treadstone boxes, which were closer than they had been before. Bourne had been responsible for that, too. He heard somewhere that the entire Bourne conspiracy was going to be a required reading and study for intelligence agencies everywhere. Paz was paranoid that he might be in it somewhere.

It didn't take him long to locate Nicky's file. He grabbed the folder and left the records room, making his way back to Landy's office. He was tempted to open the folder and look immediately, but he contented himself with the fact that he would be soon anyway. Nobody in the building was going to kill him that he knew of. His hand inconspicuously brushed his gun as he walked. He passed by Landy's team's room again, and he thought that someone in there was cheering. He did nothing and stopped short of Landy's office, just outside the door. He knew he was being intrusive but he could help it when he heard the new Director's voice on Landy's phone. Landy had visited the gun range recently, and turned up her phone volume accordingly.

"I thought assassins were supposed to keep a low profile, Landy," the Director grumbled.

"I thought so too, sir. But when someone threatens Bourne, he isn't going to keep by rules he doesn't live by anymore. Personally I wouldn't mind getting him to Australia; nothing happens there," Landy answered. Paz noted that she was tired of Bourne appearing on the grid as well. He did appear often lately. If only Paz still had a line to Bourne, he could offer him that flight to Australia. But those phones had been purposely destroyed when they last met. In hindsight, it was foolish. Besides, they could have discussed the identity of their guardian gunman.

"Your former asset does better. Speaking of which, where was he during his 'vacation time' not that long ago?" Paz didn't let it show, but his mental alarms went off. Officially, Paz was not supposed to have left New York. Unofficially, he had torn up Venice alongside Bourne and their mystery man. If he had been caught or seen, then the CIA would have had to retire completely. He had not, but they had not told the Director had Paz had practically committed murder that was not even on CIA time.

"What do you mean, sir?" Landy asked. She was clever.

The Director was just as clever, though. "If Paz is not in New York at all times during this crisis, consider both of you fired. I don't need another crazy gunman related to the CIA involved in this."

"Yes sir. Actually, you have three crazy gunmen."

"What?"

Paz felt more internal alarms go off. Something told him that Landy's phone was not the best way to disclose that a third gunman had saved them. Perhaps it was paranoia, but he knew that Bourne had to have been tracked twice now. Only the CIA had that capacity, and that meant someone could be hacking into the CIA's network. The Director would have access to everything, and the CIA had had a silent bug once before. He walked in, and Landy saw him. She apologized and hung up on him. Paz handed her Nicky's file.

They opened it up and went over it. After a moment they found what they were looking for. Paz was not surprised with the CIA's methods and thought-processes. Landy wasn't, either. But she was surprised; he could see that. "Only in the United States," she grumbled. Paz started to leave. "Where are you going?"

"To walk," he answered. "I'm going to pretend I'm Bourne and walk, and guess his next move." He had done this once, to see what a target was going to be at noon. He had been dead certain, and had taken out the target with ease. The method should work to some degree on Bourne. They were both former assassins, for one. Paz had also seen Bourne in a similar state.

"Try to be back soon; we need to start requesting satellite feeds and I need you nearby to do some map work. And while you're walking," Landy said, handing him a five. "Get me a coffee from Starbucks." Paz said nothing as he took the five and left. Landy's trick had been especially clever. Not only had she told him she expected him back soon, but she had enforced that by having him get her coffee. Now he would be forced to return with it hot, which would be soon. Plus, she got a coffee out of it. He didn't understand why people loved it so much. He had always used Monster on missions.

However, the ex-asset was not one to be outdone. As he came down to the interns, he approached one under Landy's team. "Landy wants a coffee from Starbucks," Paz said. The intern groaned internally, but Paz could see the kid was excited to have Paz speak to him. He needed a lower profile: former asset and assassin wasn't good enough. Paz needed invisible. The two walked out of the building at the same pace. As they came down the stairs from the doors, a valet had already spotted Paz's where-did-he-come-from presence and was coming around in Paz's black Sedan.

Paz decided to see if the intern could wet his pants. "I'm walking; he's using it," Paz stated. The intern didn't appear to wet himself, but he was definitely excited. Paz could only wonder at what was going through the intern's mind. He probably wouldn't be able to find any of the three handguns and two assault rifles in the car, though. Paz hid them well. The valet gave the keys to the giddy intern and went to open the door. Paz moved quickly and swung his leg into the valet, hitting him hard enough to knock him into a nearby passerby while gripping the intern's wrist, twisting and tossing the intern away.

Paz was three steps away when the car exploded.

He was thrown onto his side, his arms protecting his face from the heat. Fortunately the majority of the blast went up, sparing him from possibly losing his life. Ignoring whatever scrapes he might have gotten, Paz was already on his face with his Glock drawn. People were screaming and running either to or from the burning heap that had been his Sedan. He did a situational analysis. The valet was still on the ground, unconscious from a piece of shrapnel hitting his head, a tiny trickle of blood on his temple. The intern was shouting in pain, gripping his arm: Paz had accidentally broken his arm when he had saved him. Most of the intern's attention was focused on the car bomb, though; he was spewing forth a stream of vulgarity.

Paz checked all the windows nearby, pointing the Glock where he looked. Somebody was calling 911, and there was CIA security rushing towards his position. Paz couldn't locate his attacker, and proceeded to the intern. He grabbed him by his good shoulder and shouted, "Shut up!" The sudden yell had ripped the intern back into reality and out of shock. He looked at his arm, then at Paz, and then at the explosion. Then he looked at Paz again. Paz was wondering the same question that was on the intern's face: what _had_ happened?

On-staff paramedics came for the intern and the valet. Paz watched them leave before heading back inside. He no longer needed his walk, but now had more pressing issues to attend to. The mafia had a presence in New York now, and they had identified Bourne's assistant: him. The car-bomb had been on his car in a CIA parking lot, and that cemented that whoever just tried to kill him was also tracking Bourne. It wasn't just a hacker; it was a personnel. This was now definitely something the Director needed to know; whoever it was had high clearance. Everybody he passed on his way to Landy except her team was suddenly a potential hostile in his eyes. What bothered him the most was what had identified the car bomb before it was too late: an antenna. The car-bomb had been remote triggered, and within a likely range of two thousand yards.


	6. Encounter with a Phantom

Chapter VI

Encounter with a Phantom

"Ready?" Nicky asked. They were locked in the bathroom of the train with a first aid kit open. Bourne was sitting on the toilet, lid down, and was in position to remove her blood-soaked scarf and gloves from his leg. She was kneeling next to him, tweezers in one hand and gauze in the other. If the wound was bad, it would still be bleeding fast, and Nicky had no way of telling if an artery was nicked except if the bleeding gushed. It wasn't the first time she'd had to patch up the man. She remembered fixing him in a bathroom on a train not too long ago.

Bourne didn't answer; there was toilet paper in his mouth. He gave her a look with his eyes, and his body conveyed that he was ready as his shoulders tensed. Nicky felt her own body tense slightly; leg wounds, especially in the quad area, were deadly. She would need surgeon precision here in order to keep him from bleeding to death. And if she succeeded, then he wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry; he would retain a pained gait for a time until his leg was better. And it wasn't like they had the opportunity to sit and wait for it to heal.

Nicky breathed deeply as she readied herself for another makeshift surgery. One of Bourne's hands landed gently on her shoulder and gave her the briefest of squeezes. Reassured slightly by his trust, she motioned for him to start. He untied the scarf and had it in the sink before any blood might drip out of it. The gloves came off more slowly, and fortunately they only dripped on the sink counter. Beneath, his pants were torn around the wound, giving Nicky a sight of what she was dealing with. It was still bleeding, but only a trickle; no artery had been pierced yet. The man was still lucky.

She stared at it a moment before recognizing the bullet was not deep; she would be able to get it without trouble. Bourne could see her body briefly convey guilt at hurting him, and then she began to insert the ends of the tweezers in. The pain was great, like having needles that were used for bone marrow jammed into the area. He groaned the sound slipping out for a split second. As she focused, Nicky's hand with the gauze rested on his. He gripped her fingertips for support. Jason said it was for her, but David argued and noted that having tweezers in his leg wasn't the most pleasant feeling. Jason said it was for her; he didn't want to be weak.

Nicky focused entirely on what she was doing; the tweezers were close to being on the edges of the bullet. She had to probe just a little bit deeper. The tweezers dug farther into the weeping flesh, and Bourne bit hard on the toilet paper. Tentatively, she squeezed the tweezers and pulled gently. They were stuck; she was apparently just as lucky as he was. Trying not to cause more pain, she lifted the round out of his quad and examined it for a second. Then she tossed it into the sink with her scarf and gloves. She began placing gauze heavy on the wound; the bullet may have been a stopper for more blood.

The blood was coming out a bit more, but the gauze was already in place. She bandaged it in place and examined it for a moment to see how long it would last. "They should be good for six hours," she decided. Nicky didn't need to tell him that they would need to be changed then, and she was also certain that he could do it himself. She looked up at him to see what he was thinking.

Bourne loved it when she looked as she did; full of emotion and questions in her beautiful face. He also felt a quiet surge of anger, as the lovely face he loved was marred from her fist fight. She still had bruised and cut knuckles, and they had his blood on them now, too. He took the tweezers from her hand, tossed them in the sink, and turned on the water. It would remove blood. He stood up, and Nicky reached to help him. Jason Bourne was kind of perturbed; he wasn't that weak off. Bourne exchanged looks with Nicky and she sat down, confused. He took a washcloth, wet it, and began to wipe her hands.

Nicky watched the man meticulously clean her hands. The cold water was refreshing; she hadn't realized how banged up she was until there was time to rest. She hadn't fought like that in a long time, and the chances were good she would again, soon. She looked down at their hands; his could envelope hers completely. It was comforting to know that he was nearby, injured as he was. As Bourne took care of her slender hands, he spoke. "Where did you learn to fight?" She should have known that he would ask that question; he had never known she knew how to fight in close combat.

"When I first joined the CIA and Treadstone, after I was assigned as your personal psychologist," she answered. Seeing the curiosity in the other's posture, she continued. "They taught us basic self-defense and a little more in order to hold off an attack long enough for help to arrive. Treadstone was afraid an agent going rogue might go after their psychologist." Bourne mused over that one. Jason called it foolish; even with that training nobody stood a chance against an agent or asset in hand to hand. They would have been dead before help arrived because that's what they were trained to do. David argued that point, and noted her training was the reason they were alive tonight, but Jason shut him down countering that Nicky had fought a normal man, not an agent. David said that Jason was an incompetent gunner. Jason threatened to take control and make them into a killing machine. David said that he wouldn't dare risk Nicky getting hurt. Jason was silent for now.

Now that her hands were cleaned, Bourne moved onto her face. He brushed at dried blood, removing it from hiding her beauty while he also checked her bruises; they were going to make her more recognizable unless they got makeup to hide it. People were going to think he was abusive probably, or since he was wounded too, that they were masochists. Wouldn't that be an unusual cover: a masochist. It would be a good way to explain any injuries he would have. Someday he would try that to see how effective it was. David hoped that there wouldn't be a reason to anytime soon.

Finished, he tossed the washcloth into the sink as well. Her scarf and gloves were clean and soaked in water now. They wrapped them in a towel, disposed of the bullet, and let the washcloth sit. There wasn't enough blood on it to be noticeable, and most people would just groan and hang it back up before washing their hands. Using Nicky and the wall, Bourne made it back to their compartment. It was still night out, and he shoved back the barrier of tiredness. Now was the least amount of time he could afford to be slacking. He loaded his handgun and attached a silencer.

It surprised him when Nicky did the same with her gun. He gave her the slightest frown and shift of posture, indicating to her that he would rather she slept than stayed away. Nicky's expression and posture didn't change to agree with him, but took on a more accusatory look. She was saying that he was the one with a bad leg and needed sleep to heal. He tried again to get her to sleep. She didn't change her posture. Bourne wondered if he should force to her fall asleep. He must have been more exhausted than he thought, but he expressed it and Nicky's stance took on an angrier one.

He apologized, and she only lifted an eyebrow. Nicky didn't trust him not to put her to sleep. Sighing and admitting defeat, he reached forward and kissed her before laying back. Nicky watched him for five minutes before being certain he was asleep. His body was completely slack and his breathing was even. Bourne would probably wake from it if a bird outside chirped, but at least he was sleeping. Nicky hid her gun inside the flap of her jacket and shifted her posture to face the door. Nothing would be interrupting them without a rude surprise.

*****

The train stopped in a southern French city before heading south towards Spain. During the half hour interlude, Nicky had watched out the window to see who was boarding their car. None of them seemed to be a threat. The train had taken off again, and she had resumed guarding the door to their compartment. Bourne had woken for a brief interlude after, and he went to change his bandages while Nicky decided he needed food to replace what he'd lost. And while she didn't want to admit it to a man who could starve himself and still be in perfect fighting form, she was hungry as well.

Keeping her silenced gun at hand, she left the compartment and headed up for the food car. She felt no reason to be threatened, and walked to the food car without any sort of trouble at all. It was sparse, and it didn't take Nicky long to buy Bourne and herself more to eat; he had gone through what she had taken earlier like any male. Stashing the newly acquired food into her jacket pockets, Nicky moved back towards the compartment car. It was then she felt threatened in some way. Instantly her gun was out, she had her back to the wall, and she was moving silently towards the next car.

As quietly as she could Nicky glanced in; she wished now that she had Bourne teach her silence before. It would have been a help now, seeing the man who was standing in the hall. Nicky squeezed her frame into the hall took two steps forward, and quickly pointed her weapon at him. Reflexively the man raised his arm and pointed a similarly silenced weapon at her. He paused a moment, and lowered it without hesitation, face never turning away from the window of the moving train. Nicky wasn't as lenient; she kept her gun trained on his head, finger poised on the trigger. She couldn't see anything of his face to recognize him; the profile of the face towards her was covered by a Phantom of the Opera mask.

Nicky stopped out of arm's reach of him like Bourne had explained to her once. The Phantom killer didn't move from where he was, not evening glancing away from the window. "Who are you?" Nicky asked quietly. If the man was an enemy of Bourne's, then she wanted to kill him and be rid of it. She checked briefly to make sure her emotions were bound within her CIA training. The Phantom killer didn't answer. "I said, who are you?" Nicky pressed, trying hard not to show weakness. If the man was better than she was, then showing weakness would let him know that. Why did Bourne have to be injured?

Once more the Phantom killer said nothing to his watcher. Instead, he raised a hand soundlessly and pointed his index finger out the window. Nicky didn't look at first, refusing to be taken in by a trick that a possible enemy might play. The Phantom killer spoke, "You need to look," he insisted. Nicky relented and peeked out of the corner of her eye. She turned to face the window when she registered was she was seeing. Another train was riding along next to theirs, but was interesting about the cargo train was that several of the cars were open-air, and there were men wandering about them with automatic weapons.

_The mafia,_ was the first thought that came to Nicky's mind. She felt a surge of terror threaten to attack her CIA training. The mafia had tracked their train? How? Bourne was supposed to be the greatest assassin that ever lived, and then included being able to go invisible. They had disappeared at the train station, but there was no denying the men outside the window. How had they been found? Nicky refused to believe that Bourne was losing his touch; he was still too indomitable for that to happen. It only solidified Bourne's statement that they were being tracked by someone with access to powerful surveillance. There was a mole in the CIA.

It was the perfect time for a mole to enter, too. People were too busy worrying about the Black Briar scandal, image of the CIA and the intelligence agencies, and finding people to replace the sudden huge loss of workers that a background check could have been duped by a well-planted mole. Nicky didn't doubt where Bourne would be taking them, then: to New York, hopefully to evade the mafia, silence the mole, and start life in the United States. Nicky slight missed New York. Well, regardless of whether she'd going to revisit her home or to expose a mole so that she could live in peace with the man she loved, New York was their ultimate destination.

Nicky turned back to face the Phantom, who was still staring out the window at the mafia men. It was doubtless that eventually their train would be boarded. Nicky would have to repel them as best as she could; Bourne wouldn't be able to navigate the train with his leg. However, she might have an ally if the Phantom was truly on her side. Could he be the one that had saved Bourne and Paz in Venice? "Who are you?" Nicky asked one final time. The Phantom turned finally to face her.

"You will not be satisfied until I say," he stated. It was not a question, but a fact. Although it wasn't like he was reading her mind; it as plain on her face, even in dark, that she wanted to know who might be fighting alongside her. Without saying anything else, he reached up and took the Phantom mask off his face. Nicky at once recognized him.


	7. Manhunt

Chapter VII

Manhunt

Paz was unsatisfied with the Director's response to the car bombing. Maybe it was just his high standards; there were twice as many security guards now roaming freely through the CIA building, and they would stop people randomly, too. Maybe it was the fact that he had been the target for once, and the ex asset was unused to having been the target. He had never been the target before. Maybe it was the calm assurance of people that the mole would be caught quickly, including Landy. In Paz's experience, one remained alert and aware if they had an enemy wolf hidden among the sheep.

But what really unsatisfied him was that while people were taking steps to prevent another bombing or attack, they weren't doing anything to catch the mole and fix the source.

He almost wondered if they were either so arrogant that they thought no mole would dare strike again, if they were too busy taking care of other things to find time to find the mole, or if people who were out of touch with the field were just that stupid. He silently hoped that he would never lose that much of his awareness and skills, no matter how much he had used them to murder before. Paz would rather be a top assassin or asset than a blind or arrogant computer specialist.

So he had told Landy that he was now going to commit his resources to catching the mole in the CIA. Landy had tried to prevent on the basis that he had no lead to begin with, and that it was too personal for him to get involved. Paz reasoned that for a normal person that was normal. But he was not a normal person. For him, no lead meant that he started more broadly instead of narrowly. And Landy was right about the second reason: this was personal. Paz didn't like being the target. He was going to share that feeling with the mole.

Of course, Paz wouldn't be allowed to kill him outright; he would force have to get a confession of the mole once he finally caught up to him. It would be ideal if he could expose the mole in front of several people, or even if he could pull a Bourne and secretly tape the conversation with the mole while confronting him. But most likely, Paz would discover who it was and likely have to capture him. Paz had no knowledge of how to deal with a live captive, but he was certain it wouldn't take him too long to adapt. He was certain that he would be able to do torture as well if he had to.

He had to start with what he knew. So the ex asset checked his fully loaded Glock and his last resort weapon in his pants leg. Assured that both were ready for any sort of confrontation, he headed down to the police station on foot to see his vehicle. If in his mind's eye he was focusing on the picture of his car before it was blown up, trying to remember everything around it. The picture was slightly fuzzy but he remembered what other cars had been around it. Doubtless his mole had hired out a hitman, and Paz intended to use the equipment to find the hitman, and then the mole.

He walked into the police station and the police there seemed to tense when Paz entered. He recognized why they had done it. He was an officially former murderer and assassin, and even though he was 'recovering' policemen knew Paz was still dangerous. They also associated him with Bourne, and Bourne had embarrassed the police enough to make them wary of anyone who was remotely similar to him in training. But Paz had served in France before being sent to Waterloo, and he had learned a skill not even Bourne could properly imitate. Paz was waiting for an opportunity to use it. He spoke to the policeman behind the counter, "I want to see the remains of my car."

Prepared to flash his papers if he had to, he was pleased when they were unneeded and the policeman nodded and let him through. Paz walked through the hall and entered the evidence room where his car sat in a special lot. Miscellaneous pieces that had been collected across the street were in boxes. Paz first went to the blackened out remains of the former Sedan. It had been a reliable, safe, efficient, inconspicuous car. He would have to pick up another. The former asset examined the front where he had seen the antenna receiver for the bomb. He could see where it had been planted, but there was no sign of the receiver.

He left the car body, put on gloves, and began to go through boxes of burned equipment. Occasionally he would glance at a piece, at which point he would either put back into the box or set it down next to a small pile of parts on the table. It took him well into an hour to finally collect all the pieces he was looking for. Once he had them, Paz began an exploded assembly of the antenna receiver. It took him far less time to put together an idea of what the receiver had looked like. Already Paz knew the type of receiver and how someone would attach it and a bomb to the car. Whoever had done it needed lots of time with the car, which meant the guilty was either a valet, lot guard, or someone who had killed one of the former.

His hand reached for his cell phone when he heard it go off. Paz flipped it open and held it to his ear and answered, "Speaking." He never said his name first thing; Bourne had caught Vosen doing that, and Paz learned from other's mistakes.

"You need to come back to the building," Landy answered, "There's a new lead for you to follow; a guard was found dead hidden in the parking lot."

Paz had expected as much. He told Landy so. Then he added, "I'm going to the parking lot. Whoever it is has likely erased the cameras, but there is going to be evidence."

*****

Just as he expected, there was no sign of any tampering or killing on the video cameras. There were too few in the parking lot and they were poorly situated. It wouldn't have been hard for a hitman to move between vehicles and under cameras to reach his car. Paz stared at the guard's corpse as it was taken away; it had been hidden beneath a vehicle. There was a shot to the head and two more to the chest, meaning that the hitman was a professional. It had been pure luck that Paz had survived the car bomb, which only was because he hadn't wanted to take his car.

The vehicle that the body had been hidden under was closer to the general door to the building, which suggested that the hitman had entered the parking lot from the main CIA building. There was a chance that if he could pinpoint the time the hitman had entered the parking lot, then he might catch a profile on the cameras outside the parking lot. There was also the possibility of checking card clearance machines into the parking lot. With these objectives in mind, he set out first to the security department to check the tapes from earlier in the day. Then he would look over the clearance system and see whose ID had been admitted into the parking lot during that same time.

No one stopped him on his way to the security room, likely because no one had a clue what his business was and nobody was in a mood to ask him for something like a pen. He always wondered why pencil pushers would forget a pen. It was like him forgetting the scope for his favorite rifle when it was time to kill a target. It was just incomprehensible that someone would not have something that they used every day. The funny part, he noted, was that it was never the same person who had forgotten something. Undoubtedly some were more prone to it than others, but he had only come across a few who hadn't forgotten a pencil at some point.

The security department was particularly empty at the moment, because twice as many guards were on patrol throughout the building and perimeter. Paz was only paused once to ask for authentication, which he flashed before continuing on his way. He settled into one of the video record display rooms, and went over tape of the parking lot. He was partially frustrated; the camera that showed the entrance to the parking lot had conveniently moved to stare up at the ceiling at the time before the bomb went off. However, Paz learned two things. First, the assassin had come from within the building. Second, he had never left that way, either.

He toyed with the idea of the valet as the assassin. No professional would sacrifice themselves for a contract that simply. If every assassin blew themselves up on the first try to kill their target, the world would be a much safer place, and Paz probably wouldn't have been chosen to be a CIA asset in the first place. But there was always the possibility that the device had malfunctioned, and that it a timed remote detonation had failed. But if that were true, the valet would have known, and sitting in the hospital with a concussion proved he didn't. Paz put the valet on the bottom of the list.

Next the former asset checked the ID checks. He was partially frustrated once more, as the assassin proved their worth. There was no irregular ID at the door's scanner; every ID on the list had been issued to employees that had worked there for years, meaning several possibilities were present. First, the assassin had killed the guard and used their ID to get in. That meant that the assassin had played proxy as the guard when the valet came for Paz's car. Second, the assassin had previously killed a long standing member in the CIA and took their ID for themselves, disguising their features. Finally, the assassin was a member of the CIA, and not contracted out. That option left the assassin as an accomplice to the mole or a very accomplished mole.

There was one way to secure one of the theories. He checked the attendance records of valets and guards that moved through that hall and lot. A couple had several missing attendance, but what Paz needed was missing days lately. Three valets had missed a day recently; it was possible the assassin had any of their IDs. It was a wild goose chase, and amidst the frustration, Paz found himself intrigued. He finally had another opponent who might know as much as him. He couldn't wait to meet him.

The hairs on the back of Paz's neck stood on end. Casually, he twirled in his chair, going in complete circles. He faced the computer again, certain of what he had seen.

There was a camera in the records room.

Paz pretended to type and flipped though multiple random screens and databases, deluding his search through countless other random searches. He had been foolish. If the assassin had planted a remote bomb, infiltrated the CIA, and had an ID, then he also had access to the camera system, through hacking or clearance, alone or through the mole. And that meant that Paz was likely being watched this moment. If the assassin was as good as had been proven, then they would have Paz in their sights waiting for an opening. At least Paz hadn't said anything yet.

He continued to search for another half hour through random subjects, even occasionally attempting to password guess high-level clearances. Once the half-hour was over, he left the security department as he had entered, perhaps looking a bit more frustrated. He moved openly through the halls, appearing no more suspicious than he had been before his intuition, and moved towards one of the cell phone lounges of the CIA. Paz found an empty one and pulled out his cell phone, which was conveniently seen by the camera as he entered the lounge.

The lounge had a large window overlooking several buildings, and there were no cameras in the lounge. Paz flipped the phone open, entered a few numbers, and held it up to his ear. But he hadn't dialed. He stood in place as he always would on the phone, occasionally whispering threats or confirmations into the phone. He turned to look out the window as he muttered something else, and then shut off his phone and left the lounge, phone back in his pocket.

Paz ignored everybody on his way back to Landy's office, in a hurry. He even shouldered somebody who tried to hold him up to ask him something. Paz entered the office and shut the door a bit forcefully behind him. He leaned forward and placed his hands on Landy's desk. She eyed the still slightly ajar door behind him. "I know who the assassin is. At least I'm going to. I'm meeting an informant tonight who knows both who the mole and assassin are, in the center of Central Park at ten. Don't mention this to anybody." And then he left before Landy could say anything.

He was certain that she was confused and surprised by his sudden burst of information. Whoever was watching him through the camera was probably alarmed as well, having heard what he had to say. Paz left the CIA building in a hurry and headed to his apartment. There, he sat down on the bed and began to ready his backpack. He was not worried about being seen here; his curtains were closed and he had slipped the landlord an extra five hundred to say he was sleeping. He would get out unseen.

If the assassin was as good as they had proven, they would go to Central Park to kill the informant before they could talk. They would head immediately and find the perfect spot to deliver a kill over a large radius. It was what Paz would've done, and he knew how to counter the assassin's movements. Besides, he had memorized Central Park during a jog once, and knew what spot the assassin would pick. He finished packing his backpack and began to sneak out of the apartment complex. It was time to meet his attacker.


	8. Riding the Midnight Trains

Chapter VIII

Riding the Midnight Trains

Nicky entered their compartment, where Bourne was still motionless. She frowned and shifted her weight onto one foot and made a single tap with her other foot. Bourne didn't move for a moment before doing so. He had attempted only to appear asleep so that he could keep in touch with what was going on. She probably should've known that he would try to stay awake to make sure she was safe, when he was the one needing protecting. Hopefully he had gotten some sleep, because they were going to be up for a long time, depending on how things went with the other train full of mafia gunmen and muscle.

Sitting down on his bed, Nicky looked down at his form and felt a deep pang of grief should anything happen to him. Bourne saw the sadness in how she sat and his body tensed, ready to combat anything that might harm them. Nicky could see the heavy alertness and preparation state Bourne was in and knew that she should probably tell him now and get ready to keep him from trying to get up. Her posture conveyed danger as she spoke. "On the train across from us are mafia men." Bourne did what she expected, and he moved to leap out of his bed. Nicky stopped him by laying flat on him and wrapping her arms around his neck. Physically Bourne had every advantage, but she knew that he wouldn't dare move if she was balance on top of him.

"You stay here and wait for any who enter," Nicky ordered him. Despite Nicky being on top of him and supposedly the one who was in charge, Bourne's reaction was a small downward turn of his mouth and his entire posture said that he refused to stay, thereby leaving Nicky to fight. Nicky's expression turned to resent his resentment, and they continued to stare each other down, trying to intimidate the other. Bourne had absolutely no fear of Nicky, but was concerned more what would happen if he allowed her to fight them by herself. David Webb suggested to Jason that they try a different tactic to disperse Nicky's resolve.

His previously resentment of her command changed into concern, caring, and fear for her well-being. Nicky's fierce look wavered slightly as she looked into the face that was genuinely concerned with her safety. His body, which had been tense with defiance, had softened, and Nicky felt her own body began to soften to his, touched by his compassion. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he did come along…suddenly Nicky realized that her determination had nearly slipped, and she returned with fresh dominance in her face and posture. Jason noted that they had failed; David noted that they had come close, and he had one more tactic to keep Nicky safely here while he took care of the attackers.

Bourne's lips moved up to meet hers, and Nicky was temporarily stunned by the action. His arms gently wrapped around her body, and Nicky felt her entire body go slack before she gave into the kiss, forgetting what was happening. She kissed her back, renewing her embrace around his neck as Bourne now struggled not to forget what was going on around them. Her fingers moved up to caress his face, and he kept his lock on her as he shifted position around her. He was having trouble remembering why he had begun to kiss her, and Nicky didn't even remember what was happening until she heard the sound of Bourne's foot touching the floor.

Immediately she shoved herself off from him and stood up, folding her arms while his kiss still burned on her lips. Her expression was not pleased. Bourne looked almost surprised as to why she had rejected him until he remembered that the point of the kiss had been to deceive her. He sighed with his entire body. Jason told David he said so. Nicky was angry, and at the same time wanting. This was the first time Bourne had ever done something like this to trick her into doing something, and she was furious that he would do it now. On the other hand, her lips still burned and her body ached now, and she would have liked to resume kissing him again. But she had things to attend to.

His ideas gone, Bourne finally accepted her command, and Nicky maintained her pose for an extra moment before being certain that he would obey her. Seeing the poorly-disguised concern for her well-being, she added, "There is an ally with us." Bourne's interest was piqued, but she had no time to explain. She left it at that, checked her silenced gun, and left the compartment. Bourne looked around the compartment for something to use as a secondary weapon, moving himself into a proper position. He hoped Nicky would be safe.

Back out in the car's hall, Nicky turned to look at the Phantom, who was waiting patiently slouched against the wall. He wasn't Bourne; she had no idea what he could be thinking or feeling at the moment. While his identity proved to her that he wouldn't betray her at anytime, she still would have liked to know what his mind was going though. It was a little frustrating for her, from having gone to a nearly wordless conversation with the man she loved to being forced to talk with somebody she was only faintly familiar with. She didn't feel any better about the fact that Bourne and the Phantom could probably communicate just fine.

Nicky closed distracting thoughts off as she prepared to have a gunfight on a moving train. It was slightly more difficult to ignore the desire she had for Bourne, but she succeeded in removing her fear and distraction behind her training. The last distracting thought she had was that she was glad her hair hadn't managed to grow completely back out from when she'd cut it in Tangier; otherwise it would have been blowing in the wind. She turned to the Phantom. "Head down towards the end of the train and eliminate anyone. I'm taking the front. I'll contact you."

Wordlessly the Phantom nodded and checked the book bag he had on two shoulders, which doubtlessly carried a larger weapon than the silenced handgun he held. Drawing a combat knife in his other hand, he left the car. Nicky checked her own weapon and headed for the other car door. She moved through and looked for a way to get outside. She eventually decided on the ladder which would take her on top of the train. She hoped there wasn't a tunnel up ahead. Careful not to set off any alarms, Nicky Parsons steeled herself against what would be cold fierce winds as she scaled the small ladder and opened the hatch.

She felt a small tinge of relief as the alarm didn't go off, and she slowly pulled herself out onto the train. The wind roared, nearly blinding her hearing to everything else; her eyes stung with the wind's cold sting. Her body completely out of the hatch, Nicky lay flat against the train for caution of being blown off. Across from her train, the mafia train had an open car. She calculated how hard she would have to jump to make it. Before she could decide on a course of action, a gunman entered the open car. He looked ready to board her train, and Nicky waited for him to go first. That way, she could shoot him when he crossed, and see how he did it.

The gunman slung his weapon over his shoulder on a strap, walked to the edge of the car, and stood uneasily, calculating his own jump. Nicky watched patiently from on top of the car. Then the man squatted slightly to build power, and jumped straight ahead of the gap between cars. The wind corrected his purposely misaimed jump, and he safely landed on Nicky's train. He looked for an entrance and moved to climb up on top of the train. Nicky trained her point between the two hands that gripped edge. The gunman pulled his head up and found a barrel aimed at him. His surprise didn't last, as a single round ended his life and his body fell off the train.

Checking for more gunmen first, Nicky climbed off the top of the train onto the gap. Once she was done there, she began to look for a way to jump to the other train. The wind could only nip at her now, but she was certain it would displace her jump as well, and she undoubtedly had less mass to move. She aimed her jump and placed her life to fate. Her body flew through the air, not as moved by the wind as she expected, and she hit the floor of the other car and rolled. She came to a knee and pointed her weapon at both doors to make sure no one had heard her.

Satisfied that she was still undetected for the moment, Nicky began to head for the front of the mafia train. Her plan was simple. Once she contacted the Phantom at the other end of the train, she could be certain the majority of the mafia men were dead, unhook the engine, and then get back on their train before it was too late. The main issue was simply getting to the front of the train. It shouldn't be too difficult. Slowly but surely, Nicky began to advance for the front of the mafia train, ready to eliminate any and all threats to Bourne and herself.

*****

Bourn was deathly still in the compartment. He had maneuvered himself into a good position to strike at anyone who entered, and he still had probably two seconds before he was forced to strike. That would give him time to relax if it was Nicky or the ally she had mentioned. He wondered if it was Paz, briefly. But then most of his attention went back to waiting. He didn't move a muscle as he waited, daring somebody to enter the door. He was eager for multiple gunmen to enter the compartment. In fact, he wanted to fight as many as possible. Because every gunman he fought eliminated the possibility that Nicky would have to deal with him. That was something Bourne was very interested in.

He heard movement in the hall outside, and his body seemed to coil, like a viper waiting for a chance to strike. To the casual observer, there was nothing different about him, but a trained eye would see the energy building to lash out with, like a horse or crocodile. David Webb almost pitied anyone who might walk through the door, except he agreed with Jason Bourne. Anyone they killed was one less Nicky would have to. The steps grew closer to the compartment he was in, and he took a deep breath before holding his breathing as the door slowly slid open.

A gun, followed by an outstretched arm, crept into the compartment. It paused at the elbow, and then waited for a few seconds. Bourne kept still even longer as the arm relaxed slightly and the rest of the man stepped into the compartment. The unfortunate man seemed to realize something was wrong just as Bourne squeezed the trigger. There was no doubt in Bourne that he would hit his target, and he was correct. The gunman's head jerked ever so slightly to the side, away from the bullet, as a bit of blood splattered from the exit wound. The gunman was dead before he began falling, definitely unaware that he had even been shot.

With the gunman dead, Bourne began to silently shift from his position in order to hide the corpse. His plan wouldn't work another time if somebody saw the first body lying on the floor of the compartment, blood pooling quietly from his head. Bourne placed his feet on the ground, Jason already counting one as David looked for a place to hide the body. He decided on tossing it out the window and tossing something on the floor to hide the blood spot for now. He made it onto his feet without issue, leg complaining to the split personalities, and bent down to grab the corpse.

Instead he threw his weight upwards and put all of his sudden momentum into an upper-cutting punch. The second man felt Bourne's fist strike him in the bottom of the wrist, and the strike at his joint forced him to release his hold on the gun he had. In the same motion that had disarmed the man, Bourne pointed his handgun at the man's stomach. But he didn't get the shot off, as the attacker in reflex to losing his weapon shoved Bourne's hand into the door frame. The attacker rolled into Bourne, exposing his back to him, and elbowed Bourne in the face before striking the wrist of Bourne's gun hand. Bourne dropped his weapon as well.

The attacker had placed back to Bourne's, though, and he put his arm around the man's throat and squeezed. The attacker reacted by striking at Bourne's exposed kidney. Bourne ignored the pain and returned a strike to the attacker's arm, and then attempted to wrap that arm behind the man's head. But he wasn't quick enough, and the attacker shot his head back, striking Bourne in the nose. Bourne kneed the man in the behind and used his hand to shove at the man's head, tossing him back out of the compartment. The attacker used his momentum to avoid the windows and spin to face Bourne.

Jason was impressed; this wasn't the average hitman sent by the mafia, and he was smarter than the first three he'd fought so far. The mafia must be increasing their hitman quota. The first one had been nothing more than a brawler, and the second two had been simply big. This fourth hitman was smaller, about Bourne's size. And he was undoubtedly smarter. Jason hoped the fourth time was the charm as the two stared each other off for two seconds. The hitman broke into a fighting stance, fists level with his eyes and slanting his body sideways. This wasn't just any hitman; he was also an obviously trained fighter.

While David attempted to decide if mixed martial arts were all the hitman knew, Jason led the attack against the hitman as the hitman struck first. Now at a proper proximity to Bourne, he punched with one hand while shielding his face with the other. Bourne batted it away; it was only a test punch. This would be a new test for him, Bourne realized. He was used to fighting all out, striking the enemy as crippling as his strength and position to them would allow. This hitman would wait for a critical moment in order to get a perfect hit on him. He would have to take away that opportunity to strike as the hitman saw fit.

Bourne had been trained with that fighting style as well as countless others. It was his versatility of them, along with his improvisation, that made him such a deadly combatant. And he knew the one way that would disrupt the hitman, and that involved closing their range so that he couldn't pick out a weak spot and keep up a flurry of attack to keep him off edge. He was about to enact this when the hitman changed his stance to something more appropriate for the situation. David had been right; the hitman did know different styles after all. That put him a more equal level with Jason and David. Jason preferred it.


	9. Riding the Midnight Trains Part II

Chapter IX

Riding the Midnight Trains Part II

The man was just ahead of where Nicky was, smoking a cigarette down to the fingers in traditional European style. A second man was on a phone, hand cupped around the speaker and talking to somebody. Nicky reaffirmed her grip on her silenced gun as she examined scene again. She couldn't shoot one without the other hearing; they were in a closed compartment. And she didn't want to engage both of them in hand-to-hand. She stayed behind the crate she was behind and looked for a solution to her problem. She found it in the crate she was hiding behind, lid cracked open.

She lifted it enough to peek inside, and found that it was filled with ammunition and guns. The Mafia was probably trying to make a shipment and killing Bourne with the same stroke. She lifted the lid higher and slipped a hand inside, grabbing an Uzi. Nicky reached in again and grabbed a magazine for the tiny automatic, and tried to load it as quietly as possible. The man on the phone laughed at something, and she used the cover noise to snap the magazine into place. She checked the gun to certify that it was ready to fire, and stepped out to place the two gunmen in line with the Uzi. As the man with the cigarette moved to flick it, she pulled the trigger. Bullets spat into the first man, making him topple, and then continued into the second man. He dropped his phone, and it broke.

Nicky moved quickly, dropping the Uzi on the ground. If she was right, someone would have heard the Uzi fired, and the sight of two bodies would cause a disturbance. If the Phantom was doing his job correctly, then she shouldn't have to worry about people tailing her. She just had to keep her eyes on the people that were to the front of the train. She wondered how many more cars to go until she reached the engine. Nicky opened the door and glanced at the next car. It was an open car, with no roof, opposite a dining car. There were four men staring at the dining car and looking for a spot to jump or for Bourne. And then there was a fifth man standing right in front of her, looking very surprised with his hand still reaching for the door.

She shot him in the stomach on instinct, and he made a small noise and fell forward onto her. Nicky kept her noise to a minimum as she glanced at the four others. Out of some pure luck, none of them had noticed her yet; the silenced shot must have been completely muted by the fierce wind. None of the four had even looked over to see what their comrade was doing, which was being dead and slumped over Nicky. She grabbed the man on top of her and dragged her back into the closed car, the door shutting behind them. She dropped his body on the ground and grabbed his gun, an AK-47. Nicky knew the gun vaguely enough, and checked the chamber and magazine. Then she peeked back out at the open car. Neither man had moved from where they were standing; one man was preparing to pee.

Her finger squeezed on the trigger, and rounds shot from the AK at the four men. She made a stream that crossed their backs, dropping the four of them within seconds. Satisfied that they were dead—three of them had fallen off the car—Nicky dropped the gun and moved to continue forward; she was to the end of the open car when the door opened for her, and two men stood in front of her. Somebody had apparently heard the AK fire, and now she was three feet from two men who were not going to be as surprised as the others were. So she shot the first one with her handgun and aimed for the second when he shoved her arm away and punched her in the mouth. Nicky staggered backwards to get out of the man's reach, and he moved forward to punch her again. One of his hands caught her wrist and twisted it, making her drop the gun in a spasm of pain.

As his other hand came forward to hit her again, Nicky ducked beneath his swing and came back up with an uppercut, striking him in the jaw. He flinched, and she spun into him and elbowed him, trying to free her wrist. She did, but he put an arm around her neck and began choking her. She grabbed onto his arm reflexively, and then reached for his fingers. Nicky peeled them off, ducked and twisted his arm over her head, and shoved him into a crate. The man fell to the ground, and she reached for her gun as he charged her. A bullet struck his chest and he collapsed. Panting, Nicky checked her mouth and went forward.

*****

Bourne moved first.

His body shifted forward and a fist moved forward to strike at the hitman's jaw. The hitman moved to the side of Bourne's blow and was going to strike at Bourne's stomach, but Bourne was already following through with another punch that struck the hitman in the shoulder. The hitman rolled off the blow and brought a forearm into Bourne's stomach. Bourne grunted and used his knuckles to strike the man in-between two vertebrae. The hitman jerked forward, and threw his head to the side to strike Bourne's nose; Bourne shifted to move behind the hitman and hit him again, in the neck.

The hitman moved forward with the blow and turned to face Bourne again. Bourne didn't show anything in his face or expression, and studied the hitman for weaknesses; everyone had a weakness. He moved his weight to account for his injured leg, so that he could move forward or backward quickly. The hitman and Bourne stared each other down for a moment, and then the hitman jumped at him. Propping his hands against the wall in the narrow hall, the hitman had his legs at Bourne's chest level. Bourne realized that due to his leg, he wouldn't be moving too quickly, and saw the trouble as the hitman began to kick at him while hopping forward with his arms.

Bourne's forearms flew up to protect himself as the hitman kicked at his head. Shoes slammed into his arms, sending pain rippling through his upper body. Yet if he didn't a strike to the head would finish him. The hitman kicked straight at Bourne's nose, and Bourne caught the foot at the heel. Throwing his weight behind it he grabbed the connecting knee and shoved down while shoving up on the heel. The force pulled the hitman down, whose hands slid along the walls. The hitman landed on his back, and he kicked at Bourne's face with his other foot. Bourne flinched but didn't let go.

Instead he transferred both hands to the hitman's foot and twisted sharply. There was a crack, and the hitman shouted as his foot was snapped out of place. Bourne continued to twist; the hitman followed the movement, thrashing in pain, until he was on his stomach. Bourne let go of the foot and fell to his knees. He shoved the man's head into the floor, dazing him. Then he wrapped his arms around the man's neck and started twisting. The hitman started to panic and flailed, tugging at Bourne's grip. Bourne kept the man's head faced sideways, and then slammed the head down. There was another crack, and the man went limp.

David Webb checked to see how much the fight had exhausted him, while Jason Bourne checked for a pulse. There wasn't one. He pulled himself back to his feet and moved over to pick his gun back up. Taking heavy breaths, he debated what he was going to do with this body. After a short moment of thought, he dragged it back into his compartment, opened the window, and shoved it out. He didn't think about the sounds made as corpse met dirt and train wheel.

Bourne threw the other body out the window as well, and then shut it. Hopefully nobody behind him had been staring dreamily out the window. The former assassin and agent took up his hiding place again, gun at the ready. Both of his personas began to think about the train next to him, though. Nicky had skills she hadn't demonstrated before—that he could remember—but that didn't mean she was a combat agent like he had been. He worried about her.

A thought crossed his mind. Who was the ally that she had mentioned? Had Paz caught up with them? Or had the third gunman from Venice finally revealed himself?

*****

She heard a step behind her, and Nicky started. She turned around in midair with her gun on the verge of firing. She held back when she recognized the Phantom standing there. Exhaling, she lowered her weapon. If she had reacted a heartbeat later, she would have shot him. Bourne would have shot him twice in that amount of time. But then, Bourne wouldn't have been snuck up on in the first place.

They were in the first car after the engine, where Nicky had just finished dealing with the last gunman. She hadn't done it in the fastest time ever; Nicky would rather be dead than cautious. The Phantom must have finished his end of the train and then doubled back to catch her. He probably thought her jump was funny, if he hadn't changed. She could at least count on the fact that he had killed everyone on his part of the train.

The only thing that remained was stopping the train and returning to theirs. It reminded her that Bourne was waiting for her. They needed to hurry and get rid of the plane. So she turned to the Phantom. "Do you know how to unhook the cars?" she asked. The Phantom said nothing but reached inside his pocket. He withdrew his hand, holding a bag of gunpowder and a chunk of clay. Nicky said nothing as the Phantom moved ahead to the car door but waited.

The Phantom opened the door and knelt to begin making his homemade bomb for the coupling. He placed the clay and gunpowder and drew a small detonator out of his pocket. As he was setting a time to it, a gunshot rang over his head. There was another gunman on top of the coal car. Nicky drew her firearm and shot back, forcing him to take cover. The Phantom crouched lower, and Nicky hid behind the wall. She peered around the corner for the gunman. He popped his head over the edge again, and Nicky shot twice; she missed.

He shot at her, and Nicky hid behind the wall again. She spun into the doorway and fired again, hitting the gunman between the eyes. The Phantom finished with his explosive and stood up. The timer on the detonator was going. They started running back through the cars. While the explosion wouldn't hurt them, it would mean the cars would start slowing down, and they needed time to get back to the other train.

Nicky put her gun in her pocket to free her hands as they burst through doors. The Phantom was in better shape and led the way. He jumped over crates that had fallen in the way; Nicky took a half step to the side. She knew physics, and wasn't about to jump on a train, especially one with an open roof. They reached the point they had come from, and without hesitation the Phantom jumped. His leap carried him from the mafia train safely onto the platform between cars on their train.

She didn't jump while in stride. Instead she played it safe and calculated her steps. Then Nicky ran forward towards the edge of the car. Two steps before she jumped, there was a loud sound from the front of the mafia train. The explosive had gone off, and she could already feel the car beneath start to slow. For half a second, she panicked. Then her training set back in, and Nicky jumped. Hers was on target as well, and the Phantom moved over so she had room to stand.

Safely back on her train, Nicky turned to watch the cars slow while they passed them. They had done it; they had accomplished their objective and were now continuing on their way. Nicky relaxed, and found that she couldn't. There was still a rush of adrenaline running through her from the gunfights and sneaking, and it was winding down slowly. She was exhilarated, like she had just finished a roller coaster. Nicky was still pumped full of energy, and now without something to vent it upon she was becoming increasingly flustered and aware of a growing physical want. Was this how agents felt after a mission? Frenzied, invigorated, and craving?

Thoughts of Bourne entered her mind again, and Nicky entered the car to go see him. The Phantom trailed. She found signs of fighting in the hall outside her compartment; some of them must have come after Bourne. Nicky doubted she would see them alive. Bourne might have even ditched the bodies over the edge somehow. She opened the door and entered the compartment, at first surprised to find it empty.

Nicky turned around just as Bourne came out of his hiding place, and relief filled both of them. Their body gestures changed to loving as they embraced each other. Bourne was glad to see that Nicky had not suffered any visible injuries, like she had during the alley escape. He had to heal so that she didn't have to do this anymore. Whoever had assisted her had must have been skilled in espionage and murder as much as he was. That reminded him he had a question to ask.

Bourne's posture shifted again, and Nicky knew what his question was. She was still trying to wind down and deal with a wanting for him, but she could wait. Nicky moved aside to allow the Phantom to step in. In the dead of night, Bourne's facial recognition was diminished by the dark and by the mask worn by the other man. "Hello Bourne," he said.

The voice was familiar. It was older with years and had more experience to it, but as Bourne recognized who he was speaking to, and the posture of the other man, it became more familiar. It felt like they had only spoken yesterday. Bourne's posture shifted to recognize the other as well. He spoke, "Hello Professor."


End file.
